


In the Spotlight

by Venivincere



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nympha_alba.

He really,    
_really_   
 needs to not do this at work, but fuck, if Merlin has to grab Arthur's lapels one more time....

It's just that Colin's done it so often, smelled the castille soap from makeup and felt Bradley's hot skin, the soft-hard drag of Bradley's collarbones, the soft-rough fabric tingling along the backs of his fingers, Bradley's breath on his cheek, his neck, his lips, and God knows the fine feeling in his hands and his neck and his face have always been more than a little bit tied to his cock. It's really no wonder that any more, Colin's cock leaps whenever he's close enough to touch and to smell Bradley. And oh, he touches him so much. Or, rather, Merlin touches Arthur (and each time it happens, his mind quakes and ohgod Bradley must never find out). He's started wearing two pair of underwear under Merlin's breeches to keep the constant seeping of his cock to himself.

They're on location in France and they've been told "Thirty minute call!" while the crew play humidity vs tetchy lighting equipment (again; they're getting good at it) and there's too much heat: hot air, hot costume, hot Bradley breathing on him take after take. Bradley's been drinking bottles of water between takes and has nipped off to the loo, so Colin's crept away, ducking left into the servant's stair in the tower as a tour group amble through the hall to the right.

It's cool and dark, the only light coming from an arrow slit high above him, and he's not afraid of discovery because the door's marked in bold, red letters "NOT A PUBLIC AREA". He climbs up around the bend and sits on the steps in the narrow shaft of light, eases back on his elbows. The stone is cool in here, the contrast enough to give him a momentary shiver that starts in his shoulders and works its way down. His hand drifts to cover his aching erection, and he has enough presence of mind to undo the laces of Merlin's trousers before Costume really has a reason to yell.

He wraps his fingers around Merlin's tunic and pulls it up, bunches it under his arms so it doesn't get splashed. It won't take long, not with an entire afternoon of torture enflaming his desire. Nevertheless, he waits for a moment, hands palm up on his thighs and watches his cock bob with each wave of desire that passes over him. It stands straight up in the shaft of light, the pale skin almost translucent and glowing, with the barest blush visible through the brightness of the light. Dust motes swirl above it, each tiny point catching fire in the sun and burning, burning until it drifts out of the light. He looks at his hands, his long, pale fingers points-up in the light, for once (so rarely) warm. A dust mote drifts just above his middle finger. He presses the finger up, a steady, slight movement, and tries to catch the mote on his fingertip, but though the movement is gentle and precise, it swirls away.

His cock bobs again. And now that he's taken a moment, his desire is merely simmering instead of boiling. He slides his hand over and casually takes hold of his cock, his middle finger circling just under the head in a bare, gentle grip, just as though it were the neck of a beer bottle. He tugs twice, then leans back on his elbow a bit more as his buttocks clench and his toes curl in his boots. Everything else falls away in the shadow; there is nothing more in the world than the flaming dots of dust, and his long pale fingers wrapped loose around his jerking, blushing cock.

Colin thinks for a moment what it would be like if Bradley were here; if he'd watch the tableau from his place in the shadows, shocked silent, or gone silent with want. Or maybe he'd thrust himself into the light, take charge and get a grip, give Colin's cock a good seeing-to before reaching for his own. Aahhhh, and that last thought takes Colin's breath away; he curls all his fingers around himself and tugs. He bites off a gasp. The door may have a sign, but if any of the crew are near and hear, they'd look in after him, make sure he's all right.

He spits out another breath, the bright motes eddying madly in front of his lips, then wraps his other fingers tight around his cock. There is nothing casual about his grip any more, nothing aching and slow: now, his fingers blur together in the shaft of light, squeezing and releasing, teasing and punishing. He feels the moisture rise to the tip of his cock and bead there, begging to be licked. And it's like this that he feels the bottom drop out, that he plunges over the edge into the maelstrom of his joy and spurts his release between his pale, precise fingers.

When he's next aware of himself, the angle of the light has shifted. Not much, but enough to remove his spent cock from the limelight. He becomes aware of the sticky mess he’s made of his fingers, and decides, fine, why not? He brings them to his mouth and one by one, he sucks them in, wrapping his tongue around them and licking them clean. And just in time: beyond the door he hears, "He walked around the corner, can you...?" and a moment later, the door to the stair is opening.

“Cols?”

Frantic, he pulls tight and ties the laces of his breeches and just has time to lean back all casual-like, when Bradley's golden head pokes around the corner from below.

"All right, mate?" asks Bradley, with his best honey and graham cracker voice, and Colin's eternally thankful that Bradley hadn't opened the door a minute earlier. "We're about to start."

"Yeah, all right, then," says Colin, even more thankful when Bradley turns away back down the stair and doesn't see him pulling himself to his feet, knees wobbling like a baby gazelle's.

Bradley's through the door at the bottom and Colin's just about through, when Bradley turns back to him and captures his fingers in his own.

"Aha!" he says, leaving Colin more than a little confused and out of breath. "I thought you might be ill."

Wha-- "I'm not ill," says Colin, and he hopes Bradley doesn't hear the tiny squeak in his voice.

"Your hands are warm," said Bradley. “They've been hot all afternoon. I could feel them on me, each take. Normally they're like ice chips."

Bradley’s staring into his eyes, which makes it really hard for Colin to find his voice, but after a moment, he says, "Really, I'm fine." He pulls his fingers out of Bradley's grip, thankful he'd given them a thorough tongue bath. Where Bradley's fingers had touched them, they felt branded. He flexes them, but the feeling remains. "It's just hot today."

"Something's hot," said Bradley, staring Colin straight in the eye with his eyebrow raised and quietly, deliberately, sniffing. He turns around and pushes back through the door, Colin barely able to follow for the quaking in his gut.

He hears, "Places!" and then he hears, "Colin, are you all right?" before someone shouts, "Colin needs makeup! And someone bring him a bottle of water." And before he knows what's up, Bradley's -- no, Arthur -- no, Bradley, damnit, is smirking at him and flicking a glance down at Colin's fingers buried in Arthur's lapels.

When the director shouts, "Action!" the only thing Colin can think is,    
_I hope_   
.

~fin~


End file.
